


Hypothesis

by Skud



Series: Hypothesis [1]
Category: Sherlock Holmes (2009), Sherlock Holmes - Arthur Conan Doyle
Genre: Asexual Character, Community: kink_bingo, D/s, Kink, M/M, Obedience
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-06-09
Updated: 2010-06-09
Packaged: 2017-10-10 00:33:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 798
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/93313
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Skud/pseuds/Skud
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Watson is turned on by Holmes telling him what to do.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hypothesis

**Author's Note:**

> For the Kink Bingo "obedience" square. Originally posted [on Dreamwidth](http://damned-colonial.dreamwidth.org/486155.html).

"You will do no such thing."

Watson paused, his hand on the doorknob, and cursed himself for a fool. He'd had enough -- more than enough -- of Holmes's papers all over the floor, his casual appropriation of Watson's belongings, his utter disregard for anyone other than himself. He had every reason to leave. And yet there he was, frozen at the very threshold by the sound of Holmes's voice.

"You will do what you're told," Holmes continued. "Close the door."

"I'm going, Holmes." Just an effort of will. That was all it would take, and he would be gone. He would no longer have to put up with this treatment.

"If you were going to leave you would have done so already. It's perfectly obvious that you aren't going anywhere. Really, Watson, you're quite transparent."

That was the hell of it, of course: that Holmes had the uncanny knack of reading his thoughts. From time to time he even showed it off like a parlour trick, using no more than the fact that Watson had glanced out the window or raised an eyebrow while reading the newspaper to deduce his plans for the afternoon or the state of his finances. It was infuriating; a man's mind should be his own. And the idea that Holmes knew, better than Watson did, that he would not really leave... it was beyond the pale.

He closed the door.

"Now, come back here and sit down, old chap."

Holmes sat with his elbows on the arms of his chair, legs crossed, fingers meeting in a sharp steeple in front of his chin, and regarded Watson over them as Watson sighed and took his customary seat on the other side of the fireplace. Holmes regarded him steadily, his brow slightly furrowed, for a long time.

Watson shifted uncomfortably in his seat. "Well?" he said.

"An interesting case. Are you aroused by anyone telling you what to do, or is it only me?"

A rush of heat spread over Watson's face, as he felt his chest suddenly tighten in panic. "Holmes!" he spluttered, "For God's sake!"

"No, I suppose not," said Holmes. "I really should have noticed it before. I congratulate you, by the way. You've managed to hide it far better than I would have expected."

He could not face it -- it was insufferable. He tried to get up out of his chair, but was arrested by Holmes's voice.

"Don't. Stay where you are." Holmes got up and poured two glasses of brandy, passing one to Watson. "Drink that. Now," he said, perching himself on the arm of his chair while Watson drank, "Let me tell you what I have deduced, and you may tell me if I am wrong on any point. To begin with, you have accompanied me on a number of cases, and seem perfectly willing to take my direction. That, in itself, is nothing unusual; I am after all the detective, and far more experienced in these matters. Of course I had noticed that you would take all kinds of orders from me, without question, even when I refused to give my reasons for them or they might lead you into danger. Until very recently I attributed this simply to loyalty. It wasn't until the other day that I noticed: when I asked you to do something, you would agree, then turn away and avoid my gaze. However, I could perceive that your breathing had quickened, even from behind. The rest was simple. This afternoon was merely a demonstration of my hypothesis."

Watson took another sip of his brandy, his fingers pressing against the glass in a too-tight grip, and attempted to meet Holmes's gaze steadily despite the burning flush he could feel on his face. "What do you intend to do about it?" he asked.

Holmes shrugged and downed his own brandy in one gulp, putting the glass down on the small table beside him. "The possibilities are limitless," he said. "Are you hard?" Watson choked and dropped his glass, spilling brandy on the carpet. "Leave it," Holmes said. "Answer me. Is your prick hard?"

"Holmes --"

"_Answer me._"

Watson had not thought he could be any more mortified by the swelling in his trousers. Surely Holmes had seen it before he even asked. But Holmes was still perched there on the arm of his chair, one leg dangling, staring intently at Watson and waiting for an answer, and Watson could do nothing but comply.

"Yes." It came out in a rush, all the air leaving his lungs in a single syllable, making him light-headed.

"Good." Holmes paused, contemplating Watson for a long moment before flashing a quick smile. "Be so good as to fill my pipe for me. Tobacco's in the slipper," he said, waving casually at the mantelpiece.


End file.
